


A Knight's Surrender

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Oral, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen thinks his path is set; the world has been set on fire, but he's here, acting Knight Commander of Kirkwall, doing the best he can. And then she arrives, the one woman he could never forget, the one woman that has forever haunted his dreams.Solona Amel, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden...and Cullen's darkest, deepest desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knight's Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyla Baines](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kyla+Baines).



Cullen took one look on the pile of paperwork on his desk and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. Maker, he was so tired. He looked out of the window, to the city sprawling below, his eyes purposefully avoiding the black pit where the Chantry once stood. It was nothing more than a still smouldering crater in the once pristine Hightown square, a reminder of the dark cloud that still lingered over the city, spreading rapidly across the rest of the world: chaos, destruction, unrest.

He sighed once more; after the Chantry had been destroyed, and the Champion of Kirkwall had brought down the monster Meredith had turned into –barely escaping with his life- Cullen had stepped up to lead the templars. They had to secure the remaining mages, help the city, keep order. His men had helped the City Guard unearth the dead, subdue the pillaging mobs, protect those of the mages that hadn't deflected and joined the ‘revolutionary’ side from being lynched. It had been mayhem, but Cullen – and his templars- had pulled through, and now the city seemed to have settled down, a semblance of normalcy slowly returning. The reports of Circles rising up all over Thedas weren’t exactly comforting, but Cullen was determined to do his job as acting Knight Commander- for as long as he had it.

Fully expecting that he would only be holding the post for a few days at the best of cases, until the order for his replacement arrived, he was shocked now to realise that two months had already passed- and here he still was, an entire city looking to him for leadership. It appeared that there were more important matters in the heads of the Order’s leaders –namely the Divine in Orlais- but he was still shocked; to be truthful, he had expected to find himself thrown in a cell and interrogated within days of what had now come to be known as ‘The Kirkwall Catastrophe’.

He crossed the room to stand before the window, pensively thinking about what still needed to be done. The first merchant stalls had opened up again today, Maker be blessed, because keeping the people fed without the Chantry to help organise the soup kitchens and the distribution of rations had been nightmare. But the city still needed to procure more wheat and dried meats.  The damage to the buildings, which had resulted from the initial blast and the resulting fires and looting, needed to be addressed. 

And most important of all, life needed to start over again, people needed to wake up from this shell-shocked daze they seemed to be milling around in.

Maker, he was tired, so tired. It wasn’t just physical; he felt weary down to his very soul. It seemed that nothing could be done without him, as if the sun wouldn’t rise without his permission. It was always Knight Captain this, Cullen that; the mages needed protection- they all ran to him. The city needed rebuilding- he was expected to start mixing mortar and hefting stone. The merchants were overcharging. The nobles were complaining. The people were hungry. A templar got a blister. Cullen, Cullen, Cullen. How had the Champion done it? How had he managed not to go crazy with all the demands and responsibility heaped on his shoulders?  The damned man had done it with a dashing smile and an air of efficiency that Cullen had always envied. Was it innate? Was it something he had learned? Or had the Champion’s bright smile faded once in the comfort of his house, to be replaced by weariness and frustration?

Another bone-weary sigh escaped him. He was no Champion, but damn it, he was doing his best. He was just Cullen, a templar, nothing more; he was no Knight Commander, no Champion. He didn't have any super powers; all he had were his convictions, his faith, his beliefs- and they had been badly shaken. For the second time in his life he had found himself doubting all he had once believed in with the deepest conviction: once in the Tower, when Uldred’s abominations were set loose to destroy his naive concepts of mages, and once now, when Meredith’s madness had shaken his naive concepts of templars.

Once he had thought all mages were monsters. Now he could see that monsters came in various shapes and sizes:  mages, templars, the average man on the street. All of them had the potential to be fiends; abominations needn’t be possessed mages. There was the potential for one hidden in everyone, even himself. Demons weren’t necessary to wreak chaos and death.  There were worst demons hidden in the souls of men than in all the Fade together.

A knock on the door distracted him from his melancholic thoughts and he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair, softly calling to whomever was knocking to come in and at the same dreading that it would be another point added to the mile-long list of ‘Things-to-be-Handled-by-Cullen’.

The absurd thought that his hair needed cutting flitted through his mind for a second, making a tired smile cross his face, before he turned to accept the formal salute a fresh-faced, impossibly young templar gave him.

“What is it, Stephen?” Cullen asked, foregoing the ‘Ser’. The kid had only been made a templar because they had been so short-handed; typically he was nothing more than a green recruit. Cullen didn't feel like calling him a Ser, therefore he wouldn’t. A small twinge of guilt at his own arrogance made his stomach clench for a minute, but then he dismissed it; for all intents and purposes, he was  the Knight Commander, and he had the right to be a little arrogant.

He only hoped that this was not the same path that Meredith had taken to spiral down to madness.  At that though, he cringed a little, and decided to relent, and start calling the boy Ser... in a few weeks or something.

“Knight Commander, Ser Cullen, Ser,” the boy fumbled with the correct way to greet Cullen. “We have a problem, Ser.”

Cullen’s lip went up a notch in a small self-deprecating smile. “What is it this time, Stephen?”

“Ser. A mage, Ser. He was almost lynched by a mob, Ser.”

Cullen’s casual, almost bored pose disappeared. His body tensed up, and he took a threatening step forward, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he hissed. “Where did this happen?”

The boy lost a bit if his colour and looked around, clearly eager to get out of there as soon as possible. “In the Lowtown Market, Ser. It was Solivitus, Ser. He attempted to buy potion reagents.”

“Is the mage safe? Why was he in the city proper unattended?”

“Safe, but shaken, Ser. He had an escort, Ser. The templar was attacked, as well. He wasn’t hurt, Ser, just restrained.”

Cullen rubbed his chin. Maker damn it, this was a doozie. Solivitus was one of the few mages that had obtained written permission to venture into the City, signed by Cullen himself, and he had already petitioned to be allowed to try and buy reagents for his potions. With half the templar forces still burdened by lingering injuries, Cullen had thought nothing of allowing him to leave the Gallows; apparently that had been an error in judgement. The people’s resentment of mages still ran high in the city, and Sol had paid the price. This was a matter that could not go unpunished; in the days after the destruction of the Chantry, the templar Order had taken full control of the city, assisted by the city guards. But Cullen simply didn't have the manpower to preserve order at all times- so he needed to be strict, even though he hated it.

“We have arrested those that led the mob, Ser,” the young templar hesitantly said. “What should we do with them?”

“The punishment is clear,” Cullen’s voice was harsh. “Death.”

Stephen grew pale, and his eyes widened. “D-Death, Ser?”

“Yes. I made it quite clear that I will not tolerate this; any mages that go astray will be put to death immediately, but the same goes for any citizens that attack them without provocation. Death. This city will not fall to chaos and lynch mob mentality. Not while I lead.”

The young templar seemed unconvinced. “But after what happened, Ser...”

“Did Solivitus blow up the Chantry, Stephen?” Cullen fixed the young man with an icy stare.

“No, Ser....but...”

“No buts. Our job, the one we have taken an oath to do to the best of our abilities, is to safeguard the mages. Templars are supposed to be guardians; not executioners. Meredith forgot that; she thought it was our job to be prison guards, judges and executioners at the same time. The mages carry a heavy enough burden as is. We can show compassion, but we will do so only to those that deserve it.”

“Yes, Ser. I will try to remember that, Ser,” the young man bowed.

“Do that, Ser Stephen” Cullen dismissed the fidgeting man with a curt nod. “Send for the Guard Captain. I will need to talk this over with her.”

“Yes, Ser.”

“And cut those ‘Sers’ of yours down. I’m getting a headache.”

“Yes, Se...eh...yes, Knight Commander!”

The door closed behind the templar, and Cullen slumped down on his desk, his shoulders drooping. Maker, he was so tired.

* * *

 

“Knight Commander, Ser!” An urgent voice accompanied by a brisk knock on the door made Cullen groan. The barber raised his hand from his nape, his scissors in hand, giving him a questioning look. Maker damn it all to the Void, could he not be afforded even a little time to get his hair cut, these days?

“Enter,” Cullen ripped the towel away from his throat. “What is it, this time?”

“Ser, there is someone here to see you,” a young female templar mumbled, obviously flushed.

“Can it not wait?” Cullen motioned to the barber fidgeting in place behind him, then to his hair, now almost coming to his collar. It had gotten so long recently that Cullen had to bind it with a leather band, and though many people –women especially- had commented that the look suited him, Cullen was eager to return it to regulation approved length. He didn't want to look ‘debonair’ as one noble woman had called him, or  a ‘hunk’ as a whore in Lowtown had cried out to him a few nights ago. He wanted to look like his own self; the quiet, devout, sure-of-his place Cullen. Maybe looking like that would make him feel like it again.

“Ser,” the girl took a few seconds to allow her eyes to roam over a half dressed Cullen, blushing furiously but unable to hide her appreciative gaze, “I dared not let her wait. It’s the Hero of Ferelden, Ser!”

Time stood still; Cullen drew in a deep breath and held it, shocked stiff. Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander. _His_ Solona Amell, the mischievous girl that had teased him and made his ears blush with her sultry teasing. Solona. Damn it. She was here? What was she doing here? The last time Cullen had seen her...He shuddered at the thought. It had been just after she had released him from that Desire demon’s grasp.

Remembering what he told her back then now brought shame to his soul. While he had been imprisoned in that energy field by that demon...he had all but admitted his infatuation with her to her face, right in front all of her companions.  He had raved and raged against magic, trying to convince her to obliterate all the mages that had been locked up along with Uldred. The memory of how spectacularly he had broken down, how utterly pathetic he had been, was now making a warm blush of embarrassment spread down his face and neck.

The young templar at the door didn't fail to notice it, and gave him a questioning look. Back when Cullen had been transferred to the Circle of Kirkwall, rumours had raged about his feelings for a mage, and Cullen had had a hard time quelling them. But apparently, they hadn't died down completely, because now a small, knowing smile was curling the lips of the young woman in front of him, making his hackles rise.

Turning a well-toned back towards her, he clenched his fists, then returned to the chair and motioned for the barber to go on with his haircut, fixing the woman with a frosty gaze.

“Tell her the Knight Commander of Kirkwall is otherwise engaged. I will see her at my leisure.”

The young woman jumped a little in surprise. “B-But, Ser, she’s the Hero of Ferelden!”

Another cold look. “I am perfectly aware, Ser Leona. And a very powerful mage, at that. Stay sharp around her, and assign two templars to accompany her at all times. Inform her that she is to stay here, at the Gallows, and give her one of the empty rooms. She will be summoned to an audience tomorrow.”

“As you please, Ser,” the templar gave him a tense nod.

“And no hero worship,” Cullen warned darkly, just as the woman was about to close the door behind her. “Hero of  Ferelden or not, she is still a mage. Treat her as such.”

His order was acknowledged with a brisk “Yes, Ser!” and then the door closed.

The barber looked at the Knight Captain with a vacant look in his eyes.

“Well, my good man,” Cullen growled. “What are you waiting for?”

The barber blinked. “Are you absolutely sure about this, serah?” the short, plump man asked. “Your hair rather suits you like this. You look...rather fetching, if I might say so without being misunderstood.”

Cullen just sighed.

 

* * *

 

Solona Amell paced the confines of the small room she had been given, bristling inside. She hadn't expected this cold disdain from Cullen; she hadn't quite expected hugs and kisses and a warm welcome, either, but some small measure of courtesy would have been nice. If not towards her, then at least towards her title; she was the freaking Hero of Ferleden, after all, and the Commander of the Grey, not some annoying wench!

She had briefly contemplated throwing her status as a Grey Warden to the templars that had dared dump her in this little dank room and expected her to stay there and behave, like a good little mage. She’d briefly entertained the idea of marching into Cullen’s office and asking him who the fuck he thought he was, treating her like this. But she didn't want to make herself a target; Hero or not she was a mage in a city where the very word caused panic and hate. Plus, she didn't want to alienate Cullen- not more than circumstances already had.

In fact, she had come here with a completely different purpose in mind than antagonising the man who was currently the most powerful in Kirkwall. She had plans, plans of her own. Hawke and she had briefly met in Amaranthine; her cousin was weary as she was, tired of always being the one that people depended on when the going got tough. They had decided to disappear together- let somebody else be the hero for once, let someone else save the day. She had found a kindred spirit in Gareth Hawke, one that was tired of responsibility and of losing things –and people- that were important to him; just like she was.

But before she disappeared, before Hawke and she politely took a bow and left the stage (the play was a flop, anyway) there was one last, lingering doubt she needed to remove from her system. Cullen. The thought of him had plagued her mind for far too long; his name had been the one she whispered in her sleep for so long, she could hardly remember when it had started. Cullen. She had to see him, one more time, and find out, once and for all, if there was any chance that there might be something they could salvage from a love that had been nipped in the bud by fate and circumstance.

The dark-haired, petite mage stopped pacing and flopped down on the hard bed, sparing a thought for the poor apprentice that had once occupied this same space. There had been an eerie silence in the corridors of the Gallows as she’d been shown to her room; she was certain that the mages that remained could be counted on her fingers, and that was the optimistic evaluation.

She was well aware of what happened within these walls; that grotesque statue that Meredith had melted into was still in the courtyard, and everyone, mages and templars alike, gave it a wide, _wide_ berth. It gave out a sinister, malicious aura, a sensation of dark, baleful magic that would try to twist the most benevolent of spirits into something malignant. It was like cancer, trying to spread around, trying to taint the very light that filtered over the courtyard’s high walls. She’d felt a shiver that was both warning and temptation go through her when she had approached it; a voice, low, dark- a soft whisper, that beckoned and promised untold power. She knew better than that, of course, knew better than to give in, but she couldn’t help but be glad that Cullen had assigned a crew to dispose of the thing. As far as she was concerned, the deepest pit of lava in the Deep Roads was the best place to toss the accursed statue- and even _that_ was too close for comfort.

She had heard the account of what had happened from Hawke himself, his stoic elven lover by his side, offering him his silent support and giving a nod from time to time to verify Gareth’s sayings, or a lip-tightened scowl when he disagreed. And  the times the elf had disagreed had to do with one subject and one only: magic, and more specifically, Anders. Solona had sensed the tension between the two men regarding that subject, and had hesitated to broach it, but she couldn’t help it. Anders had been her responsibility, one of her own people. and she’d needed to learn all there was to know in order to understand how the flirty, flighty mage she knew had ended up a man that had set in motion events that threatened to destroy the world as they knew it.

Circles were rising up everywhere in Thedas, mages were organising themselves into rebel armies with surprising ease, and abominations and maleficarum roamed unopposed. The templars had either gone on killing sprees, annulling circles left and right, killing mages without the slightest provocation, or tried in vain to stick to a code of honour that no longer mattered- and ended up dying for it. There seemed to be no middle ground- only here, in Kirkwall, Cullen had made a difference. He had proclaimed that the templars had to adapt and change, while at the same time keeping to the dictates of their Order. Only here, in Kirkwall, templars knew what they were doing: they were protecting the mages that were worth it, while making examples of those that posed a threat. There was no quarter given, no mercy to those that went astray, and nothing they wouldn’t do to protect those that didn't. They weren’t just vigilant anymore; they were actively hunting down and eliminating maleficarum, and yet everyone on the city knew: hurt a mage without provocation, and your ass was done for.

Solona was so proud of Cullen. Her heart was singing with joy; during Hawke’s retelling of his story, whenever Cullen had been mentioned, all that had been said was positive, showing him in a light that made her glow with concealed pride. When people raised their eyebrows and commented that they had never expected a seemingly mild-mannered, unassuming man like Cullen to show such strength of character, she smiled secretly, and inside she had crooned that she had always known. She’d always believed that Cullen’s quiet conviction, his unmovable will, his deep faith and unwavering devotion would one day make him an exceptional leader.

There had never been the slightest doubt in her mind.

Unfortunately, that also meant that she could bet on the fact that Cullen was forever beyond her reach. He would never abandon his Order- not for her, not for anyone or anything else. Cullen was a templar; it was such an intrinsic part of his psyche that you could not separate the duty from the man, not without destroying him. And destroy him was the last thing she’d ever wanted to do.

But she had to know for certain. Hope -even desperate, slim hope- was a hard thing to rationalise. She had never stopped loving the man, never stopped wanting him. What had begun as an adolescent crush had soon evolved into an ache that would just never go away, no matter how she tried- and, Maker, had she tried! She’d attempted to let herself fall for another man, for Alistair, for Zevran, for Anders. _Anybody_. Anybody that could erase the image of those warm hazel eyes looking at her with secret longing. It hadn't worked. She hadn't been able to feel remotely interested in any of the men that had passed through her life. Zevran’s seduction had left her cold, Alistair’s boyish smiles had not managed to move her, Anders’ charm had not even impressed her. There had never been anyone else for her- just Cullen. 

She sighed. _Cullen_. Unrequited love was such a torment. And that was why she was here now, putting herself into a precarious situation, because the Seekers were closing in, and Kirkwall was the last place she would be safe from them. But she had to know: was there any chance, however slim, that she could have the man who had always haunted her dreams?

If not....then one night. One night with him. And then she would move on, and try to forget him.

A small voice  in her brain scoffed at that, sarcastically reminding her that she’d better be careful what she wished for, because once she got it, it just might prove to be the one thing capable of breaking her beyond repair.

 

* * *

 

Cullen chuckled a bit to himself, running his hand through his cropped hair, as he heard the report on of his templars gave him. Solona was pissed. The smile on his face widened a bit, and he pursed his lips to try and control it. It gave him a smug sense of satisfaction thinking that the almighty Warden Commander and Hero of Ferelden was reduced to waiting for his summons. It was irony- back in the Circle, he had been at her mercy, even though she had been a mage and he a templar. His shyness and hopeless infatuation gave her the power to torment him, dropping sly winks and saucy remarks that had made his cheeks flame and the power of coherent thought –and speech-disappear. How many sleepless nights had he spend pacing the small confines of his room, thinking of nothing but her? It was fitting she was reduced to the same state now.

Although, Cullen could swear it, Solona was probably not having the erotic daydreams that had plagued him back then. She was probably angry enough to spit and hiss like the little hellcat she was, and he was sorely tempted to continue this little game of his until he could see how far he could push her. But her safety came first, and his little game had endangered that. The smile died on his face at the thought, and irritation flooded him. The damned Seekers had sent him a message asking him to ‘restrain’ her until they arrived to ‘take possession of the mage’. He cursed through his teeth. He was not handing Solona over to that shadowy group, even though he would be facing serious repercussions if he didn't. Maker only knew what they wanted her for: to lead the anti-mage campaign effort? To help bring the rebellion down? To use as a scapegoat? Cullen knew they were looking for Gareth Hawke, too, and Maker damn him, he was not going to watch either the Hero or the Champion become pawns in the hands of anyone. In Cullen’s opinion, those two had already given too much of themselves for others- nobody had the right to demand anything more of them.

He dismissed the templar with orders to lead the Hero of Ferelden to his office, and then allowed himself a small moment of vanity, examining himself in the mirror on the wall. His uniform was immaculate, he himself groomed to perfection. There was nothing that could be done about the small peppering of grey hair at his temples, or the dark circles of worry and exhaustion under his eyes. Frowning at his reflection, he moved around his desk and sat down on the high-backed chair, pretending to be deep in paperwork- and waited, his heart secretly galloping.

Not a moment too soon, it seemed, as he had barely sat down when the door unceremoniously opened and Solona was announced. Cullen half rose to offer the petite woman that burst through the door a proper bow. His formal words –words he had been rehearsing for hours-  died on his lips at the irate look on the mage’s breathtaking, pixie-like face.

“Cullen, you ass!” she raged and then slammed her hands on his desk. “You pompous, self-righteous, arrogant piece of templar shit!”

The templar behind her gasped at the language, but Cullen just smiled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling at the rage on that little spitfire’s face.

“A pleasure to see you again, as well, Solona,” he said, his rich voice husky and smooth.

“Pleasure my ass!” she huffed, still leaning over his desk, her breasts rising with her panting breath.

Cullen’s eyes slid over the curves of her derriere, then his smile widened more. “I do not presume to know about your...posterior, Solona, but it _is_ a pleasure to see you.”

A snicker sounded from behind them, and Cullen had just one second to feel sorry for the poor templar that had dared draw her attention.

“You!” she twirled around to point to the man, her eyes shooting flames. “Out. Now.”

Cullen gave the man an imperceptible nod. He watched her with mounting amusement as she stood there, trembling in rage, waiting for the door to close, then rounded on him again.

“Cullen!” she hissed. “You have kept me here, waiting, for two days. Two fucking days, Cullen! Do you know what this means? The Seekers are after me, you jackass, and Maker knows what they want!”

Cullen sighed, then looked at her straight in the eyes. “I am aware. There is a ship  waiting to take you from the city tomorrow morning. I never meant for....this,” he waved his hand around, indicating whatever it was that was going on between them, “to threaten your well-being.”

Some of her anger deflated at the sincere note of apology in his voice, and now that her temper had cooled, she could finally make some belated realisations. Cullen had flirted with her, not stuttering, not blushing, not even once losing his composure. And... he had arranged for her safe passage out of the city.

She only had this night. One night. He was sending her out of the city in the morning. At that thought-and intrigued to explore exactly how much Cullen had changed from that shy, blubbering young man she had known- she let the rest of her anger die out, and took on a saucy, inviting pose, and let a suggestive smile curl her lips.

“So,” she caressed the polished wood of his desk, noting with satisfaction that his eyes seemed to follow the way her fingers slid across the smooth surface, “we only have one night then.”

A small trace of wide-eyed surprise lit his eyes for just a second, reminding her of the Cullen she once knew, before he ruthlessly suppressed it and replaced it with a scowl.

“I don’t quite follow you, Grey Warden,” he smoothly answered, raising one eyebrow. “One night for what?”

Her cheeky smile widened. “To catch up, of course, Cullen,” she all but purred. “What else?”

Cullen rubbed a hand against his forehead, trying in vain to stop himself from admiring the woman Solona had turned into. Back in the Fereldan Circle, she had been a petite, barely developed young girl, curves still unripe, baby fat still making her a little pudgy. Now, she had turned into a spectacular woman, all feminine grace and toned, lithe muscles. She had the classic hourglass figure; pert breasts that begged to be cradled in a man’s palms, a waist tiny enough that he was sure he could circle it with his two hands, flaring down into wide hips and a mouth-watering ass. The curve of her high neck; had it always been so swan-like? Those pretty seashell ears, peeking from the loose curls of her regal hairdo; had they always been so adorable? Had her cheekbones always been so pronounced, her heart-shaped face so breathtaking? Her lips so absolutely kissable, so full?

He closed his eyes  for a second, trying to convince his body not to respond, schooling his expression back into a professional, formal look. He desperately reminded himself that he no longer was the same young, green templar that she could get hot and bothered with a saucy smile. It didn’t help -not much- but at least it gave him something other than the reaction of his body to focus on.

“I highly doubt the purpose of this...visit was to exchange old gossip, Warden Commander,” he said, as professionally as possible, then leaned back into his chair. “So, what brings you here?”

She smiled; a dangerous, cat-like smile, then sauntered towards him. “In one word, Cullen: _you_.”

He was proud of the way  he kept his composure at that statement, although his heartbeat accelerated with a sudden jolt. “Me?” he nonchalantly asked. “What business could the Grey Wardens of Ferelden have with me?”

She sat on the edge of his desk, and shot him a look that just screamed provocation. “My business with you is personal, Cullen.”

Maker, the way she all but purred his name...It sent goose bumps up his arms and a sweet shiver of anticipation down his spine. But Cullen refused to show any outward sign of his torment, and just raised an eyebrow again. “Care to elaborate?”

Some of the playful brazenness in her eyes left her then. “I’m leaving. For good. Gareth and I, we’ll go away, disappear somewhere. I just wanted to see you for one last time.”

He nodded, his mind working overtime. So... The Champion and the Hero had met, and decided to leave everything behind together. He briefly wondered if Fenris was going with Hawke, or the elf had abandoned his lover; then dismissed the thought. It wasn’t important, it wasn’t any business of his. He had never understood the fascination Hawke had with that broody, intense elf, anyway, although he had to admit that the Tevinter elf had stood by his lover admirably, even though it had gone against his convictions. He cast a suspicious look at Solona; was this why she was here? Was she intending to ask him to go with her?

“And what business of mine is that?” he asked, a bit more roughly than he had intended, making her cringe a little. “Why should I care?”

She leaned over the desk and smiled that little crooked grin of hers at the way his breath caught at her proximity. From this close, she could see the dilated pupils in his eyes, and the frantic beat of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. Reassured that despite his bluster he wanted her as much as she wanted him, she leaned further in, until their lips were just an inch apart, their breaths mingling.

“The question Cullen,” she whispered seductively, “is not whether you _should_ care. It’s whether you _do_ care.” 

His eyelids dropped. “Witch,” he groaned, before he lost the battle with his will and moved his head to meet her lips with his.

Their first kiss ever was sweet, achingly so, tender and experimental, explorative. It was a shock wave of sensation; an intoxicating mix of gentleness and desire. Cullen’s fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair, to the point of threatening to pop through the upholstery, as he fought the urge to slip his arms around her and pull her closer.  Solona made a little breathless sound- half moan, half sigh. It was a wonderful kiss, just like the one she had dreamt of giving him back at the Circle: precious, almost innocent.  It was also short, because someone found that exact moment to knock at the door, and Cullen pulled away from her as if he had been scaled. She pouted a little; that short, unbearably alluring taste of him had not been enough- not by a long shot.

Cullen drew in a couple of deep breaths, trying to control himself, to make the blush on his face and the erection tenting the skirt of his uniform subside. He shot her an irate look as she chuckled at his predicament, then grabbed her forearm and removed her almost forcibly from on top of his desk, leading her to a chair.

She blew him a kiss, and Cullen groaned under his breath. “Behave,” he spat through his teeth, as he called for whoever was at the other side of the door to come in.

Solona rose from the chair just as two templars entered, to give Cullen a report on a mage that they had apprehended that was suspected of blood magic. Just as she swept past them, she smiled politely at Cullen, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“If you insist so much, Knight Commander, then yes, I will have dinner with you tonight,” she said casually, and almost laughed again at the narrowed-eyed look he sent her for just an instance, realising he had been trapped.  The rumour that he had invited her to dinner would circulate among his templars within the hour, and now he had no option but to really invite her, or make a fool of himself.

“I am honoured, Warden Commander,” he nodded politely, while his eyes promised retribution for her little stunt. “Is six bells okay with you?”

She smiled. “It’s perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen found himself pacing in his private quarters, getting more and more agitated as the time approached six bells. He had the Gallows cook deliver dinner to his room, and asked one of the maids to set a table, then arranged and rearranged the plates and cutlery on his own, wishing he had something better to lay out other than the heavy-duty clay plates and the banged up forks and knives. He could have asked someone to get some of the more expensive items from the official dining room that was reserved for when the Knight Commander had important guests, but he then thought about it and decided against it- it would cause too much gossip among the ranks.

He had spent quite a bit of time contemplating whether to put on his templar uniform after having a brief bath, or civilian clothes. In the end, he went with his uniform -it made him feel much more comfortable than the old-fashioned, wrinkled set of leather leggings and linen tunic he kept at the bottom of his chest. He did forego the heavy metal chest plate, though, opting to stay with his surcoat –which many people still ridiculously called a skirt, not realising it was a full-length robe- emblazoned with the templar insignia.

A knock on the door made him jump a little, just as he was taking one final look at himself in the mirror. He shook his head to clear it, and took a few deep breaths to settle his nerves. There was no reason to feel as jittery as a schoolboy. He would get through this night, spend one final evening with the woman that had haunted his dreams for so long and put her on a ship in the morning, hopefully without her catching on to the fact that he hadn't stopped wanting her all these years. With this plan firmly in place, he squared his shoulders and opened the door to let Solona in.

His breath lodged somewhere deep in his throat at the sight of her. Dressed in a deep burgundy robe made of velvet, she was a vision to make any hot-blooded male groan. The fabric clung lovingly to her curves, moulding to them like second skin, bringing out her cream-and-peaches complexion and making her deep chocolate brown eyes even darker, even more mysterious. He gulped, then took a step back to let her into the room.

“Cullen,” she smiled. “You look good.”

He looked down at himself, vaguely wondering what it was she saw that was alluring, because she was giving him a look reserved for much more handsome men than him. Then the thought crossed his mind that she was once again toying with him like a cat did with a mouse, and a small wave of anger rose inside him. Damn her. She knew –she had always known- how much she affected him. Well, she was not going to have her fun at his expense again- not here, not tonight. Not ever.

“Solona,” he firmed his lips and nodded with fake politeness. “You look...fine.”

Her smiled faded, to be replaced by irritation, and he suddenly felt like a heel. This was not how he had been raised. He had been brought up to be a gentleman, and he was behaving like an ass. Furious at himself and at allowing her such power over him, he resolved that this was the first and last time tonight she would ruffle his feathers. He nodded towards the table with a curt little gesture. “Shall we?” he said. “The food is getting cold.”

She sighed and took a seat. “Can we not at least be civil towards each other, Cullen?” she asked. “We are old friends, after all.”

A little bitter chuckle escaped him as he also took his seat. “Friends?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “We were a great deal many things, Solona, but friends wasn’t one of them.”

She leaned forward. “Why are you so hostile?” she asked, her eyes wide. “What have I done to you? I come to see you, and you let me wait for days; you avoid me, and now you are trying to make me angry. Damn it Cullen,” she slapped her hand on the table, “why are you being such an ass?”

He sighed and leaned back, looking at her pointedly, then looked away, ashamed. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Maybe because I remember what an utter idiot I made of myself the last time we met.”

She blinked at him. “An idiot? When?”

He huffed, and a small blush painted his high cheekbones. “Let me see....” he drawled. “That would be right about when I admitted my infatuation with you, then urged you to go slaughter all the mages in that damned Tower because none of you deserved to live. Oh, and yes, when I broke down and cried like a babe.”

She blinked again, then tilted her head to the side, totally perplexed. “Cullen...you were being kept in a cage of raw energy by a desire demon. You had managed to withstand her allure for days; you’d fought her when no one else had been able to. You didn't make a fool of yourself...If nothing else, I was impressed. We all were.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, then decided a change of subject was absolutely necessary, because they were treading dangerous ground. “Let’s eat,” he said and grabbed the wine bottle and served her a glass, then uncovered his plate.

She looked at him with a slow, saucy smile uncurling on her face. “I don’t want to eat. I’m not hungry. Not for food, anyway...”

Cullen froze with his glass halfway to his mouth, then carefully set his glass down and gave her a hard look. “Solona, I’m not that easily flustered anymore. If this is another one of your old games, then I have to say it: I am not interested.”

 She smiled even more broadly, then stood up and slowly started undoing the buttons on her robe, one by one, holding his gaze. “Aren’t you?” she breathed, then turned her back to him to cast him a seductive look over her shoulder that was now free from the confines of the robe. She noticed how his gaze heated, but also how his chin rose stubbornly.

“This is highly inappropriate Solona,” he admonished her. “Put your clothes back on.”

She chuckled, then turned to him again, and a wave of feminine pride went through her at the way his breath caught as she lowered her robe down to her waist; only a gossamer thin tunic separated her flesh from his gaze, and her cheeks blushed; she was embarrassed, just a tiny bit, but also determined to see this through. She could be setting herself up for a huge disappointment, of course; the thought had crossed her mind, the fear that Cullen might just laugh and toss her out the door. However, his heated, half-lidded stare reassured her that he at least showed the normal level of interest any warm-blooded man would feel when an attractive woman undressed for him.

She shimmied her hips and let the robe slide completely to the floor, leaving herself almost naked in front of him. Other than the thin, transparent tunic, she had worn no other smallclothes, and she was sure he could see her body as clearly as if she was completely naked. Her body responded as his eyes roamed all over her, her breasts swelling and her nipples hardening into little points, moisture pooling between her legs.  A shiver ran through his big body before he  hastily looked away, swallowing hard, a muttered curse escaping.

“It won’t work,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I won’t give in. I don’t know what game you’re playing...”

“I’m not playing any games, Cullen,” she interrupted him, taking one step closer. “I’m offering. Freely, no strings attached. One night, just you and me, just us. I know you want me, just as I want you.”

He cursed luridly under his breath, then rose on his feet.  “You’re not playing, you say,” he hissed. “Any minute now, though, you’re going to laugh and tell me you were just teasing.” His fists clenched by his tensed body and his jaw tightened in sudden anger. “You know, Solona, screw this. Two can play this game.”

Lightning quick, he untied the cord around his waist, then grabbed a handful of his robe and pulled it over his head, before tossing it carelessly to the side. He stood in front of her, in nothing else but his smallclothes, all perfectly sculpted muscle and long, powerful limbs, and fixed her with a determined look. “Your move.”

She bit her lips to hold in the moan that nearly escaped her; trembling wildly, she slowly pulled her slip over her head, and let it slide to the floor. “I’m _not_ playing,” she whispered, covering her breasts with one hand, and her mound with the other; despite her determination, remaining completely naked in front of him when he seemed to be so angry with her was impossible for her. “If you want me, Knight Commander, you are welcome to have me.”

Cullen seemed to recoil at this, his eyes going wide. “Maker, Solona, you can’t really mean that.”

But he couldn’t help the little groan of male appreciation from escaping him. She was a dream, a wet dream come true, one that had haunted him for far too long. Even as his words still lingered in the air around them, he took the first step towards her- and another one after that- until he stood in front of her gloriously nude body, scant inches separating them. “This is wrong, and you know it.”

The air heated and time stood still as their gazes caught and held.

“Cullen,” she breathed, her chest already tight with anticipation. Despite his words, there was such heat  smouldering in his pale brown eyes, such want, that it took her very breath away. Her skin heated more, beads of perspiration made her body suddenly glisten- moisture pooled between her trembling legs, and her lungs started working overtime to get air in. She was panting, caught in that predatory gaze, his pupils blown wide in arousal and want. Solona raised a hand, slowly, tentatively, and laid it against the bulging pectoral covering his galloping heart. His eyes hooded over with something that was more than want, more than longing. It captivated her to see it; compared to the stuttering, easily flustered young man she remembered, this Cullen standing in front of her was hot, hotter than fire, and the heat was blistering her.

Her hand slipped down on its own volition, sliding over warm skin covering taut muscles. A finger lingered over one male nipple, slid down an impressively defined set of abdominals, dipped in the ridiculously cute indentation of his bellybutton, then tested the downy softness of the small trail of strawberry-blonde hair that started beneath it, leading straight down like an arrow to where she wanted to touch him the most.

 “Woman,” he growled. “Stop it. This is wrong.”

“It feels right,” she all but purred. “It has felt right for a very long time.”

Two large hands came to rest on her shoulders, but despite her hope that it was to pull her closer, she found herself being pushed backwards instead.

“I will _not_ be toyed with,” he drew a deep breath, then closed his eyes. “I used to stutter and blush and run for cover with a teasing remark; I’m not that man anymore.”

She smiled, intrigued. “I like this new Cullen.”

He opened his eyes to give her an impossibly intense look. “This new Cullen might be more than you can handle, Warden.”

She raised her chin, the challenge in his words making her pride prickle. She was the Commander of the Grey, the Hero of Ferelden; no man had ever been able to bring her to her knees. She fought against his grasp, then took the extra step needed to bring her nude body flush to his. The heat of his big body surprised her, then his scent hit her senses, heady and masculine, wrapping around her- he smelled of strong soap, healthy male sweat, and something that was just Cullen. A feeling of nostalgia flooded her, of afternoons in stone corridors that were being heated by the summer sun, of a deliciously sexy templar whose scent she had trailed after in the silence of the Tower.

“You smell like home,” she choked, her nose buried in the crook of his shoulder; she nearly kicked herself for saying it as soon as the words had slipped from her mouth. Sounding like the little homesick girl she’d been back then was the last thing she wanted to do- not here, not now.

But Cullen’s eyes grew soft at her words, and a ghost of a smile graced his lips for a second, making the hard expression of the Knight Commander melt back to the one she remembered from those days long ago; and suddenly he was Cullen, _her Cullen_ , once more.

“We were so young,” he said, a hand trailing down her cheek. “So naive. But we have both grown and changed since then, haven’t we? I...never regretted anything as much as not giving you a single kiss before you left. I dreamt about it for weeks.”

“Cullen,” her voice was lost once again, a knot forming in her throat.

“And then I heard that all the Grey Wardens had died at the battle of Ostagar...and I gave up on ever being able to kiss you.”

His thumb caught the drop of salty water that spilled over her eyelashes. “Don’t cry.”

She turned her hand to kiss his palm. “I’m not crying for me. I’m crying for that naive little girl that was so in love with you and knew no other way to show it but  to tease you.”

His eyes widened with surprise and understanding. “So...all that time...? You loved me?” His heart gave a huge lurch at her affirmative nod, and he leaned in to kiss her again, a soft, adoring touch of his lips on hers that brought on a fresh wave of tears.

“Don’t cry, Solona” he repeated, his lips caressing her, trailing soft, butterfly kisses all over her face, over her eyes, down her nose, along her chin. “I’m not worth it.” His hands slipped in her hair, undoing the knot at the back of her head, and her glorious dark curls slipped down her back.

He eyes closed on a sigh, tears slipping over her lashes.  “I’m crying for her: Solona Amell, Circle Apprentice, Cullen’s little pest. She loved you so much. She lost you so soon.”

“Cry for that naive young templar that was head over heels in love with you as well, then. He’s just as gone as she is. Too many disasters; too many monsters. Too much disillusionment. That Cullen was a bright-eyed little fool; he’s gone now.”

Her lips wobbled, then a pout formed. “I want him back.”

A smile spread slowly over Cullen’s face, wicked and sexy, predatory and endearing at the same time. “Whatever for?” he asked. “He wouldn’t know how to do this.”

And then his lips were on hers, talented, soft and hard at the same time, kissing her with enough fire to make her bones melt.  Desire shot through her, chasing the tears away, lust replacing the sorrow. She clutched on to his hands that were framing her cheeks and held on for dear life as that wickedly smooth, hot tongue of his slipped through her lips, traced her teeth, then dipped in her mouth. A moan escaped her. _Maker,_ _his taste_. He was like liquid sin, like the most heady wine, making her drunk on his taste alone. She squirmed helplessly in his grasp, aching for more contact, more skin on hers, more everything.

He obliged her with a groan that rumbled in his chest; one strong thigh slipped between hers, pressing against her burning core until she was rocking against it, shamelessly riding him, rubbing her wet, aching centre against his flesh. A harsh moan escaped him, then his hands trailed down her face, her neck, caressed her arms, to finally come to grasp onto her hips with bruising strength. 

Her head fell back, and taking it as the invitation it was, his plundering mouth left hers to trail down her creamy throat, muttering her name, biting and licking and nibbling. She moaned, low and deep, her senses going haywire from the pleasure she was receiving. Two strong arms pulled her forward, until her toes hardly touched the floor; she was now perched onto his leg, shamelessly rocking against it, mewling as he used all the strength in the bulging muscle of his thigh to push her higher up.

“This is wrong,” he muttered once more, trying to convince his own self. “Maker help me... Woman. Stop me. I wanted a kiss, you owed me a damned kiss. But I can’t stop!”

She clutched his shoulders, her nails sinking into his taut, tensed muscles, making him hiss and attack her neck with even more ferocious, urgent, suckling kisses. “No,” she protested, her whole body trembling. “No, Cullen, don’t stop. I want you. I need you. Please, Cullen!”

A deep growl answered her, and suddenly his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her even higher; she took the chance to wrap her legs around his torso and rub against the tent in his smalls, where an impressive erection strained to break free. She gasped; their chests were now lined up and the feeling of her soft curves being flattened against the steel wall that was his chest was amazing. His skin was so hot, a furnace of incredible male heat, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, giving off an intoxicating musk of male arousal that was hitting her on a primal level. She nuzzled against the small hollow at the base of his neck, wallowing in the scent and the warmth; her tongue came out to taste the saltiness of his heated flesh.

A small lick, almost imperceptible, a purr of appreciation, a small sigh of contentment.

And Cullen was lost.

His control snapped, and he shed his inhibitions, all traces of logic that dictated that he shouldn’t do this. Oaths were forgotten in that instant, logic abandoned, the past was pushed aside and promptly ignored; Cullen stopped being a templar; Solona stopped being a mage. Every reason that he had been reciting in his brain why he should _not_ be doing this just disappeared in the haze of want and lust. A male animal, intent on claiming the female that had driven him crazy for years was all that was left of him, and a female in heat, burning for her man was all that remained of her.

With a small gasp of want and surprise, Cullen’s hand dove in his smalls, fumbling  to push the fabric down, and released himself; her eyes locked with his as he opened her legs even wider and took her with one surging thrust in her incredibly tight heat. A keening yelp escaped her at the searing flash of pain; Maker, he was huge, rigid, a length of steely agony lodged deep where no man had ever been; the pain was more than she could have imagined, and tears flooded her eyes as her body struggled to adjust.

Cullen’s eyes widened; he pulled back to look at her, and the sight of her tears was like a punch to his gut. But he couldn’t stop-he was way beyond the point where he could have stopped. With a breathless apology, he pulled back to surge back inside her, taking her even more completely, reaching the very end of her snug, quivering sheath. She grunted, but made no effort to stop him, or to pull back; she had surrendered completely, accepting all he had to give her- even pain- because coming from him even that was pleasure. His possession was all that mattered, and as she heard his groan and a whispered praise at how good she felt around him, she became aware of herself growing moist again, her very flesh surrendering and relaxing with soft, pulsing motions around him. It was as if her body was telling him to stay right where he was, even though it hurt, even though she felt full to the point of bursting. Her body had a mind of its own, it seemed, overriding the higher function of her brain, and it revelled in the feeling of being taken; it clenched around him, trying to keep him just where he was, finally finding the piece it had been missing to become complete.

Another slow, forceful thrust powered inside her, making her gasp, but in pleasure this time, as the desperate tightness of her sheath eased, and the engorged member inside her rasped against a spot that sent waves of bliss from the top of her head down to her curling toes. Strangled groans were escaping him, firing her up, making her mewl like a helpless kitten. She wrapped one arm around his neck, trying to raise herself even higher, trying to mesh their bodies even more completely. The motion pushed him even further inside her, until he was completely hilted in her tightness, until there wasn’t an inch of space between their heaving, trembling bodies.

He stilled, absorbing the incredible bliss of being so totally connected, then his chest heaved with a resounding, reverberating moan and the arms around her tightened to the point of making her ribs hurt. A shudder went through him, then another. “Solona,” he breathed, his voice rugged. “So good. So tight, baby. Maker. Solona.”

The urgency and awe in his voice clearly matched the one she was feeling; his name escaped her again in a desperate plea. It was as if his name was the only coherent word her brain could produce; as he started moving, incoherent moans and gasps replaced speech.  That wonderfully thick shaft pummelled her, thrusting inside her in a rhythm that was designed to destroy her sanity. Every time he raised her a bit higher to then let her slide down his length, she felt like she would fly apart, like all her existence had concentrated on that tight point of entry, where his rigid shaft possessed her body. One thrust, then another, and another after that; long, brutal, urgent. She felt her body unravelling with every single one, and held on to him even tighter, as if he was her only connection to reality. Need spiralled, pleasure built, lust fogged her mind.

He wasn’t faring any better, if the gasps and rumbling moans he tried so desperately to keep in were any indication. His eyes were focused on her, the hard, masculine lines of his face taut with tension and want. Every time he surged inside her, his eyes would wander shut for a second, his eyelids flickered; moans, prayers, and curses were tumbling out of his mouth in a hoarse, muttered voice. She blushed at some of the things he said; when had her timid templar gotten such a deliciously dirty mouth?

Another surging thrust inside her pushed her a little bit further up that spiralling path that was going to lead to a freefall she anticipated and feared at the same time. She felt out of control, surreal, like caught in an out-of-body experience. Vaguely, she could hear herself moaning, could hear his rough, hoarse voice urging her on, could feel his body shuddering as he held her up with one arm wrapped around her torso and one large, calloused hand grabbing her behind. She could feel the pleasure whipping her, every thrust inside her tight heat pushing her forward towards the end; the pleasure was too much, too acute, too frightening. She started fighting it, fighting him, struggling towards and away from completion at the same time. The fall was going to incinerate her brain, she knew it, she could feel it.

“Don’t fight it,” he groaned, his breath laboured. “Don’t fight it- let it take you. Let it take us both.”

A sound started building in her throat, coming out as a small keening cry that built in volume as her body tightened even further around him. He stilled for just a fraction of a second, fighting to regain his control before he gave up with a deep, tortured moan, and the speed of his thrusts increased even more, until her eyes rolled backwards and she started convulsing around him, her fluttering sheath squeezing him like a vice, milking him. Lightning coursed down his spine as he followed her, his vision going white, his heart stopping with a jolt of incredible bliss. She came again as he released his essence inside her, wrenching deep, agonised moans at exquisite sensation of her body tightening even more around him.  He held on to her while they both groaned and trembled together, their bodies slick with sweat, as they tried to rise over the dark, frighteningly intense waves that crashed over them.

She raised her head from his shoulder first, her eyes foggy, her breath still panting, and kissed his mouth, lingering over his swollen lips, breathing in the air from his lungs.

“Maker, Cullen,” she purred, as his member twitched inside her again, sending a small, but incredibly sweet little twinge of pleasure inside her again. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

His lips tightened, and he led them both to the bed, which they tumbled on together, then drew in a deep breath. Their bodies were still connected, and he pulled her on top of him, arranging her on his chest; Solona settled down on top of him, sprawled like a lithe, contented kitten, then started tracing circles on his chest with her fingertips.

“The question here,” he said, “is why didn't you tell me you had never done this before.”

She blushed a bit, which was ridiculous considering what they had just done together –and standing up, no less- then hid her face in his flesh, totally mortified.

“You could tell, then?”

Cullen’s lips curled upwards, but the look in his eyes was dark and intense. “Yes, the pained  winces were a dead give-away.” A finger snuck under her chin to raise her head up so he could look into her eyes. “I could have hurt you. Why didn't you tell me?”

 She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Because I knew you wouldn’t have taken me if you knew.”

Cullen hummed. “Hmmm...perhaps. But you underestimate your appeal, I think. Little minx,” his lips then curled into a fond smile. “I can’t believe you stripped for me like you did, and made all those lewd suggestions- and all that time, you were untouched. Whatever happened to the old ‘blushing virgin’ stereotype?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she smiled seductively, and a small surge of feminine pride went through her at the way his eyes immediately hooded at the look. “Just because I had no hands-on experience, that doesn’t mean I have to be like those simpering like princesses, do I? I ran with Zevran for more than a year, for Maker’s sake! There’s not a more promiscuous person alive, and never will be!”

“And how come this _Zevran_ ,” Cullen spat the name with derision, “never got to....let’s say...”

“Get into my smalls?” she sweetly asked. “Oh, he tried.” She hid her face in his neck again, and a small sigh escaped her. “But the truth is...all I could think of...was you.”

A little jolt of surprise that went through his big body was all the answer she got, and she sighed again. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Cullen,” she mumbled, while her heart wept for what could once have been between them, back then when he was a shy, reserved templar, with wide trusting eyes, and she a little mischievous girl that loved to tease him. “I’m just being honest. I was never able to forget you. I had always wanted you to be my first.” She raised her head to look into his eyes, secretly dreading he would see annoyance and awkwardness there; what she  saw took her breath away. The look in his eyes- Maker. Want, and longing, and regret. Tenderness and yearning; it reflected what she was feeling so perfectly that she couldn’t resist stretching up for a sweet kiss, its perfect taste marred a little by the bitterness of regret.

“You were all I could think of for the longest time,” he admitted too, his voice soft. “When Uldred unleashed those demons...” a shudder went through him and she tried to hush him with a finger across his mouth, but he shook his head and she could see he needed to tell her. “That desire demon...she tortured me with images of you, with what-ifs and could-have-beens. She showed me images of us together; making love, laughing together.” He swallowed down a knot in his throat. “She showed me images of us living together, a small cottage somewhere...you growing large with my babies. I can’t tell you how many times I nearly gave in- I wanted to. Maker, how I wanted to! Only the knowledge that it was not possible, an unattainable dream, kept me from giving in.”

She felt tears, hot and bitter, burning the back of her eyes. _Oh, Cullen_ , her heart wept. A drop escaped her, and his arms tightened around her body in response. Sniffling quietly, she kissed the spot her tears had moistened, then rested her palm against his heart, the steady thump reassuring her.

A melancholic silence reigned, bitter memories choking them up. She felt secure and protected in the circle of his strong arms, his heart beating under her cheek; he was pensive and withdrawn, caught up in painful recollections, staring at the ceiling. _What now_? they both thought. _Where do we go from here?_

Not willing to yet tackle this question, she decided they needed a diversion, something else to talk about. “So...you didn't answer me...Where did you learn to do all that? Because you weren’t the picture of a blushing virgin either,” she smiled up to  him, desperately trying to hide the multitude of doubts and regrets that were flooding her brain.

He drew in a deep breath. “That’s because I wasn’t one,” he smoothly said, and watched in amusement as a tiny frown creased her forehead.

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Bethany,” he used his thumb to erase that small crinkle from between her brows.  “Bethany Hawke.”

Her head whipped up. “My cousin? Bethany Hawke, the Champion’s sister? Gareth’s sister?”

“The Champion had a few things to say when he learned,” he scoffed. “I had the bruises for days.”

She settled back down on his chest, shell-shocked that Cullen’s lover had been her very own cousin. And jealous, so very jealous. She examined her heart, wondering why it bothered her so much that it was a member of the Amell family that had been his first lover, and realised that it was because –damn it- Cullen was _hers_. Her templar. Her first love. She should have been his first lover too, damn it, not her cousin. This felt like treason, coming from a person carrying her family blood. Even if she had never met Bethany, she felt like a sister had betrayed her -which was absurd, really. 

 “Tell me about her,” she said, both dreading to hear about her, and wanting it with a sick, perverted need to cause herself pain- to torture herself with the knowledge of how silly her dreams of ever being more than a warm body for Cullen really were. “Did you love her?”

Cullen remained silent for a long time, his lips pursed in an effort to keep in his smile at the little tone of jealousy in her voice, before the last image he had of Bethany sobered him up.

 “No,” he sighed.  “No, I don’t think I did. She was a sweet girl, difficult not to like. I was fond of her, certainly, and there was attraction. She...” his voice broke, “she had your eyes, Solona.”

She went perfectly still, the hand that was slowly petting his chest halting altogether. “My eyes?”

“Your eyes, yes. Beautiful, big, soulful brown eyes. That’s what drew me to her.”

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she sniffled again, then a small chuckle escaped her. “In a creepy sort of way. If I had her here now, I’d be going for those eyes with my fingernails, you know.”

“She’s dead.”

Silence descended again. She bit her lip, afraid to ask, dreading what she was going to hear.

“I know. Gareth told me...She died at the Battle of the Gallows, right?”

“Yes. She died protecting the young ones from the templars,” Cullen raised a hand to rub between his pinched eyebrows. “Which is...so wrong, on so many different levels.”

“I’m sorry,” she kissed his chest. “I really am.”

Cullen squeezed her hand for a second, then closed his eyes. “I know. I was sorry too. It changed a lot of my views on mages and templars. I swore once –in the Circle of Ferelden- that I would never trust a mage again. I believed, for the longest time, that mages were not to be treated like people- that they weren’t people.”

She wanted to protest, but she could tell he hadn't finished talking yet, and that saying all this was difficult for him. A lot of uncomfortable admissions had been made during this night, she realised, by both of them. It was as if they had secretly agreed that secrets and half-truths had no place between them this night. So she didn't say anything, just lay there, on his chest, offering him support- just support, no judgement.

“When I saw her that day...” Cullen swallowed heavily. “A group of templars were closing in on her, and there were about six children huddled together behind her. I will never forget...there was a little girl, barely seven, whom Bethany had been so fond of...Christina. She was clutching onto Bethany’s robe, her eyes so huge. She was just a little girl...and she was so scared.”

And suddenly, Solona didn't want him to finish telling the story; she knew it would break her heart. She could see it in her mind’s eye, a little girl huddling behind a young, frightened mage; the child’s face terrified and the adult’s warm brown eyes filled with despair –her own eyes, Amell eyes. A young woman resigned to her fate, but determined to stand resolutely in front of templars that were approaching her with drawn swords, expressions hard behind their steel helmets.

She rose up on her elbows to kiss Cullen, effectively shutting him up. She didn't need to hear about more death and destruction- not now, not this night. This night was about them, not the monsters that lurked in the dark corners of their souls, waiting to devour them. This night was for them, the young, naive people they’d both been back then when they had fallen in love with each other, before strife and battle had hardened them. This was a homage to their lost innocence, a tribute to the forbidden, hopeless love they had both tried so hard to hide.

For the thousandth time, she wondered what would have happened if her decision to help Jowan hadn't taken her away from the Circle to join the Wardens. She wondered –and ached doing it- if one of them would one day have cracked if she had remained at Kinloch Hold, if one of them –or maybe both of them- would have found it impossible to resist; if their love could have been given a chance to...

To do what? It had been forbidden. It had been hopeless. One of them would have had to stop being all that he or she was for them to be together; she could not stop being a mage, and Cullen could not stop being who he was- a templar.

There had been no hope for them. There still wasn’t.

Solona’s kiss was laced with regret, and the answering kiss she got back was filled with the knowledge that there was nothing this night could lead to; that didn't make it less sweet, though, nor less passionate. Maybe this despair, and the urgent need to drown in something that transcended it, was what made their kiss ravenous, was what made desire sparkle between them once more. One hand came up to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to the side for better access; tongues explored and battled, moans were once again devoured by a fervent kiss, hearts once again thundered with renewed desire.  Just like that- it was so easy between them, so effortless. The past and all its mistakes were between them, keeping them apart, their roles and who they were an obstacle that looked insurmountable; but their bodies- their bodies knew no such restrictions. Their bodies didn't know duty, or roles, or regrets; there was only this between them- hot, blinding desire, the urgency to mate, passion, want.

She wrenched herself out of his grasp, desperate to explore him, to map his body in her brain and her heart forever; an all-consuming desire for his flesh was fogging her brain, making the blood in her veins almost fizzle with excitement. She slid down his throat, peppering his skin with small licks and kisses, sinking her teeth into the straining tendons of  his corded neck until she heard him hiss and groan. His hands tried to pull her back up, tangling even more in her hair, fisting the silky tendrils. She resisted, biting down hard on one bulging pectoral until he let her go; her touch gentled, turned into a soothing caress, a kiss on one male flat nipple. Encouraged by Cullen’s moan and the tremor that raced down his muscular body, she licked again, running her tongue over the hard nubbin, and she wasn’t disappointed. Cullen arched off the bed; her name left his mouth in a breathless grunt. Strong fists curled in her hair again, but this time to pull her towards his flesh, not away, begging wordlessly for more.

She slid even lower, her cheeks blushing a little, but determined she would not let her inexperience slow her down, or keep her from enjoying everything Cullen had to give her. The perfectly defined abs were rock hard under his smooth skin, pulsing with tension; she kissed and nibbled her way down over them, delighted at the way her templar half-whimpered in desire and half-giggled when her touch tickled him. The cute little indentation on his steely stomach caught her attention; she couldn’t  resist, and eagerly snuck her tongue into his bellybutton, while Cullen laughed and tried to pull her away.

“Minx,” His eyes were alight with mirth when he finally managed to pull her back up for a kiss. “That tickles, you little imp.”

She lingered over his lips, a huge smile splitting her face, then she winked saucily and slipped through his grasp to slither down his body again.  Cullen tried to keep her up, he wanted to kiss her some more, wanted to see that smile transform her face into the impish girl he remembered, but when she slipped even further down, resting her cheek on his hip, he stilled. She wasn’t going to...surely, she wasn’t. Bliss muddled his brain as one hand came up to cup his hardening groin, brushing through the strawberry blond curls that were framing his staff, already hard and twitching.

“How did this thing fit inside me?” she circled his cock with one hand, her little fingers not quite meeting. “It’s not possible.”

A throaty moan escaped him as she run her fist up and down his length, squeezing lightly. “I’d be more than glad to demonstrate again,” he said, his breath already panting.

She smiled up at him, then shocked him when she snuck a delightfully pink little tongue out to gather the drop of moisture that had pearled on the tip of his straining organ. “Shiiit...” he hissed, his body arching off the bed. “Do that again.”

Solona chuckled before complying, a feeling of pride battling her embarrassment. She didn't let her awe at seeing a naked, aroused male from up close phase her; she had run with Zevran-she knew all there was to know about things like this, at least theoretically. And she had always been a lustful, sensual being, delighting in her female allure, although she had never felt any desire to do this, not with someone that wasn’t Cullen. She rejoiced in her feminine power now, holding onto an organ that was the centre and ultimate expression of his masculinity. It was scorching her fingers like a living rod of burning steel, so soft and hard at the same time, like iron encased in silk. She blew a warm breath of air and nearly chuckled when it twitched. Cullen groaned, then his hands combed through her hair again, wordlessly asking for more attention; she didn't hesitate. With a sigh of want, she licked from base to tip, then engulfed him in the heat of her mouth.

Cullen swore his eyes crossed. This was torture, this was pleasure beyond imagining. Where in Andraste’s name had she learned how to do this? Her mouth was hot and moist, drawing him in, sucking him with bold, confident moves. He groaned again as that lithe tongue swirled around the crown, then down the vein that pulsed at the underside. Maker, he was going to go blind, bright flashes were already going off behind his closed eyelids, his vision was already turning white. He fisted the bed sheets with one hand, his whole body corded to the point of breaking with tension as he tried to reign in his desire, to preserve some small modicum of control. All he wanted to do was thrust, grab onto her hair and keep her there while he surged into her mouth and throat; but he knew he shouldn’t. He whimpered as one hand cupped his sack and massaged gently. Maker, he was going to lose it.

Cullen made the mistake of slitting his eyes open to look at her, and the image was one he would never forget: Solona, straddling him, her sweet mouth open as she swallowed him down. He nearly came on the spot, the image was so erotic, so fucking hot, that it nearly incinerated his brain. Growling, grunting, he pulled her up, ignoring her protests, then effortlessly flipped her over, so that now she was looking away from him, and she was straddling his chest. Solona gave him a startled look over  her shoulder, a little bit confused, but the heat and lust in his eyes and then the way his hands grasped her hips and pulled her upwards soon told her of his intentions; she smiled saucily before her gaze became half-lidded with need; her breath caught. Slowly, she allowed him to move her upwards, until her core was hovering just above his face. Then, just before the first swipe of his tongue through her slickness, he pushed her downwards with a hand on her back; and she happily resumed her previous task, taking his straining shaft back into her mouth, moaning around it as his mouth attacked the tender flesh between her legs.

His tongue slid up the length of her slit in retaliation, finding her centre and lavishing the small nub there with attention, and she moaned around the rigid flesh in her mouth, making Cullen hiss in turn. A battle of wills took shape: who would make the other lose control first. She suckled and licked and devoured his flesh, wrapping one hand around the engorged staff to pump him languidly- she was rewarded with his mouth surrounding her clit and suckling hard, relentlessly, making her almost scream with the waves of bliss that spread through her and made her whole body tremble. She peppered small licks and kisses, let her teeth lightly scrape the highly sensitive skin- Cullen’s teeth retaliated, small nips pushing her further and further along that dark spiralling path that would once again lead her to the edge.. She took him straight down to her throat, suppressing the tendency to gag at the thick flesh that filled her to capacity- two fingers thrust inside her, rasping against nerve endings that were still thrumming from her previous orgasm. 

Neither of them wanted to be the first that would beg –at least not with words, because their bodies were both begging already. Cullen’s muscular frame was tensed like a bow, bathed in slick perspiration, the tendons in stark relief and deep, reverberating growls rolling their vibrations through his chest as his hips jerked upwards with every suckling move she made. Solona was all but shaking as if lightning was going through her, her legs ready to give out, moisture seeping out of her and small moans caressing her lover’s flesh. His hands tightened on her hips, slid down to her ass, cupped and squeezed the firm globes, and she raked her nails down his muscular thighs in answer, determined she would break him first. But when another finger joined his first two in her tight sheath, and an orgasm hit her out of the blue, she lost- and did so joyfully- her brain short-circuiting, her breath lost, her vision going black.

Vaguely, trembling and thrashing in the aftermath of an incinerating climax, she realised he was moving her again, settling her down on her back. She struggled to open her eyes, battling the post-orgasmic languidness that demanded she needed to sleep in order to look at him through half-lidded eyes. The sight burned itself in her brain with a searing flash of want; Cullen, on his haunches above her, his face still wet with her release, licking his fingers clean as if her cream was the rarest of sweet treats, moaning at her taste. Their gazes caught and held; time once again stood still. The air thickened with lust and want, and he growled at her, a sexy, totally male sound that made her want to purr and beg- and she did, wordlessly, raising her arms to him, silently inviting him to join himself to her once again.

A violent thrust of that thick, long shaft inside her already sore sheath was the answer, but she was so beyond feeling any pain or discomfort that she welcomed the rough joining with a sigh of absolute contentment. Arms wrapped tightly around him, legs climbing up to tighten around his slim hips, she gave in, surrendered totally once more, and simply held on to him as he pounded her to the mattress, her heart singing in joy, her body out of control, her every cell focused on him and the pleasure he was giving her.

She closed her eyes tightly, held on to her man, and pushed all regrets aside. This was right. This was belonging. This, _this right here_ , was life, and for tonight at least, she was going to live it. Cullen’s rough voice in her ear reassured her he was on the same page, he was feeling just as awed and joyful of the primal, instinctive connection between them.

“Maker. Solona. Sweetheart. You were made for me.”

And he for her.

* * *

 

Later Solona woke up to find herself cradled to Cullen’s chest, his chin resting on her head. She immediately realised he hadn't slept like she had, lulled to sleep by the most amazingly pleasurable experience she had ever lived through. She sifted, worry starting to penetrate the soft haze of contentment that was blurring her thoughts. She was sorely tempted to dismiss the little voice that was beginning to nag in her head insisting she should ask Cullen what was wrong, why he was so tense. She just wanted to snuggle here, on his chest, against his warm, masculine scent, with the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.

“A copper for your thoughts,” she mumbled, against her will, then bit her lip as his  body tensed.

Cullen heaved a huge sigh. “Are my thoughts worth so little?” he attempted to humour his way out of answering. It wasn’t easy; he didn't know what exactly he was feeling, for once, and even if he did, words would possibly not be enough to express the jumble of emotions in his heart.

He looked down to see two impossible large chocolate brown eyes looking at him with apprehension. There was something else hidden behind the small traces of fear in those eyes, something darker, something infinitely more distressing. With a pang of pain tearing through his gut he realised it was despair, the tensing of a woman that knew her heart was about to be broken-that there was no escaping it- and bracing herself against the pain to come.

“I was wondering how in the Maker’s name I’m going to let you go when morning comes,” he admitted, honesty written on his face. There was no point hiding from her; she was feeling exactly as he was: like someone condemned to be executed.

“You don’t have to Cullen,” he eyes pleaded with him. “Come away with me. You love me, just as I love you, just as I always have. We’ll be happy together. You can be happy without being a templar, I know it. Don’t you?”

The brief temptation to lie, to offer soft, whispered reassurances, to hold her tight and tell her that they would find some way to hold on to what they had, speared through his heart; but what was it exactly that they had? A youthful crush that had been snuffed out long ago? Passion? Desire? Or love? Could what they had rediscovered this night go on? Could it last without destroying them?

His eyes softened as he looked at her; he didn't know, and he couldn’t lie. He could never lie to her. Their shared past forbade it- the hours they had spend in each other’s arms made it impossible. Uncertainty was eating away at his gut; he had never been as tempted to abandon what he had always believed to define him: his Order, his vows, his mission. 

Taking a good, hard look at himself, he realised that his faith in his Order had been severely shaken after the recent events in Kirkwall. His eyes had opened to see all that was wrong with his Order, all that needed to be corrected. He realised that he was severely disappointed in the Templar Order, allowing a healthy dose of cynicism to enter his heart; but he wasn’t willing to give up on it. He was convinced that changes needed to made, but that the Order was not beyond salvation. And he wanted to be there for these changes, he wanted to be the one making them. He had never felt so torn before in his life, wavering between his duty and what he heart desired: the woman in his arms.

Maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was incredible bravery and strength of conviction, but in the end he could do nothing else; dropping a sweet, achingly tender kiss on her trembling lips, he told her ‘no’.

And then made love to her again, a joining full of desperation and regret, his heart aching while his body sang in bliss, her face drenched in tears even as she came apart beneath him. He held her tight afterwards as she cried in his arms, fighting  back his own tears.

He had just broken her heart, he knew that, and in the process, had destroyed his. But there had been no other choice, and for the first time in his life, Cullen hated what and who he was: a templar, down to the bottom of his soul.

Cullen returned to his office in the Gallows, walking slowly, tiredly, like an old man. He didn't talk to anyone on his way, didn't spare even a brief nod to the templars that stopped their daily routine to give him the formal salute his position demanded.

Once behind the door, sitting in his chair, he let his fingers that had been clenched in a tight fist slowly unclasp, and looked at the amulet she had given him, just before she boarded the little ship that would take her out of Kirkwall.

 _“Wear it always,”_ she had said, _“and remember me.”_

As if there was any chance he could ever forget her.

He slipped the thin, gold chain over his head, and let the amulet settle against his skin, a small chill making him shiver as the cold metal touched his body.  It was an amulet of protection, she had told him, and it would keep him safe.

But it could not give him warmth, it could not give him love...he had lost that chance, and had done so willingly, by his own choosing. The saddest part was that she didn't hold it against him, she’d told him so.

 _“I knew you wouldn’t leave your Order for me, Cullen,”_ she’d told him, standing on the desolate, empty peer, as seagulls squawked above, their cries mournful. _“It’s who you are: loyal, devoted, steadfast. This is the man I love- I shouldn’t have asked you to change for me.”_

He had kissed her in answer, one last kiss, both sweet and regretful, telling her what he couldn’t put in words: how sorry he was and how much he loved her.

He clenched his fists and brought them to his face, pressing down on his eyes hard enough to make his vision turn white. His chest started heaving, a desperate cry clawing its way out of his chest; he tried valiantly to swallow it down, not to let it out. It would be her name, he knew it, it would be a cry of a soul realising it’d  just lost its soulmate. He managed to drown it- just barely. The tears, though...nothing could stop those.

* * *

 

“Cullen!” a voice through the crowds made him raise his head, and look around. The busy market in Val Royaeux was bustling with people, and he failed to see any familiar faces, so he shrugged and went back to perusing the wares on the weaponsmith’s rack in front of him.

A hand clasped on his forearm, and a voice whispered urgently, making him tense.

“Don’t turn around. Pretend to be browsing.”

He snuck a look to his left, to the cloaked man standing right beside him, and one  hand went to the hilt of his hidden dagger.

“Tsk, tsk, Cullen,” the man’s voice chuckled, sounding eerily familiar. “If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already. Probably back when you laid your filthy paws on my sister.”

Suddenly, recognition flashed in Cullen’s mind, and he had to suppress his first reaction, which would have been to cry out “HAWKE!” loud enough for the whole market to hear him. Instead, he dropped his head, pretending to examine a dagger and whispered just as silently.

“I distinctly remember you trying to do just that,” he said. “Fancy meeting you here, Gareth.”

The beady-eyed man behind the counter gave them both a rather suspicious look, and Cullen tensed, but Hawke was strangely nonplussed. He raised both hands in the air, then smiled at the salesman. “Just browsing,” he said.

“I know who you are, Serah,” the man hissed. “Keep your hands away from my wares.”

Cullen’s fear that Hawke had been identified was replaced by confusion as the man laughed. “Don’t worry, Cullen,” he said, winking. “Nobody here knows I was once the Champion of Kirkwall...” he added, keeping his voice low. “I’m afraid I’ve made myself a different kind of reputation, over these past few years.”

Intrigued now, Cullen was about to ask for more information, when some guards rounded the corner, and Hawke looked rather shiftily around. “Emm...have to go. Come meet me at the Viper’s Nest tavern tonight. We have lots to talk about.”

Cullen watched him go, weaving through the crowd with unnerving agility despite his height and muscled built, then in an instance he disappeared, and Cullen was left there, staring after the spot he had last seen him. He made his way to his room in a nearby inn, his mood both expectant and brooding; he was glad to have seen Hawke, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of that fateful day, more than six years ago, when he had foolishly let the woman he loved go.

He lay on the bed, a sad frown on his face. He had let her go, but hadn't forgotten her, hadn't _really_ let her go- not from his mind, not from his heart, not from the heated dreams that plagued his nights. Had there been a single night during these six years when he hadn't woken up from erotic, arousing dreams, putting his arm out to touch her on the bed next to him, only to find he was alone? That one perfect night, the pleasure of her touch, the bliss of becoming one with her- it had marked him, body and soul, it was all he could think of.

He had let her go, that cold morning at the peer of the Gallows; he had chosen his duty and his Order. And for what? The Order was falling apart. Rogue templars had turned into mindless killers, into a sinister, mage-hating organisation that carried out witch-hunts and killed innocents with no more excuse than that they were suspected of magic. The vows that templars once took –to safeguard and protect the mages from themselves, and others from them- had long ago been abandoned. Cullen didn't recognise the Order he was a part of anymore. He had seen a group of the so-called ‘templars’ not long ago- mindless, hate-filled, prejudiced butchers, addled by too much lyrium. A shudder had gone down his spine at their sight, and for the first time he had felt ashamed to call himself their brethren.

His plans to hold on to what deserved to be preserved in his Order had failed; he had held on for as long as he could, making Kirkwall seem like the last sane place on Thedas. A year or so ago, though, the dreaded moment of the order for his replacement had finally arrived; just when he had stopped expecting it from day to day and finally relaxed. He was demoted to Knight Captain once again, and watched in helpless fury as the work he had done was undone within a few short weeks by a Knight Commander that made Meredith look sane in comparison. 

Finally, he could take it no more, and asked to be re-assigned. He was here, in Orlais now, waiting to meet the head of the Order, who had specifically asked to see him. Cullen was almost resigned that they were going to discharge him, or send him to some dismal, remote place. There had to be a place to hide someone who was now a  liability, an anachronism. Aeonar, perhaps.

He still couldn’t believe this was what he had refused to follow Solona for. Hindsight was an awfully ironic concept; if he’d known back then how things would turn out, would he have followed her? Or would he still have decided to stay and make the best of what had proven out to be a futile cause?

Time passed swiftly with these dark thoughts, until he realised that night had fallen, and he remembered his appointment with Hawke. Opting to dress in civilian clothes rather than his templar uniform, he asked around the marketplace for directions for the Viper’s Nest, encountering suspicious looks and hostility all the way. When he finally located the seedy little tavern, in an area of the city that was clearly the haven and base for most of the city’s criminal elements, he was surprised to walk in and find Hawke sitting beside a dark-haired elf, drinking merrily as if he was right in his element among the cutthroats and thieves that the tavern’s patrons seemed to consist of.

“Hawke,” he addressed the man, and did a double take when he realised his companion was none other than Fenris, now dressed in a loose fitting leather suit of armour, that concealed his markings. “Fenris,” he acknowledged the still sour-faced elf, then smiled sarcastically and gestured towards his hair.

“Nice colour,” he dryly commented.

Gareth ruffled the elf’s hair. “He looks dashing, doesn’t he?” he smiled fondly, ignoring Fenris’ disgruntled growl.  “It was necessary, I’m afraid, though I do miss those snow-white locks.” He leaned back into his seat, and blew Fenris a kiss. “With our current lifestyle, we couldn’t afford the attention; he stood out like a sore thumb.”

Cullen took a seat, then accepted the tankard of ale  the elf confiscated from a passing-by waitress.

“What lifestyle is that?” he casually asked, burning inside for a chance to ask about Solona.

“We’re...let’s say...resource re-allocators.”

“He means thieves,” the elf groused.

Hawke’s smile widened. “And pirates. Quite famous, too, or infamous, if you prefer. The Falcon and his Wolf, If you’ve heard of us.”

Cullen choked on his ale. “The ones that cleaned out that Count’s treasury? That was you?”

Hawke bowed. “The same. Happy to make your acquaintance.”

Cullen just there, listening in awe and confusion at the tale of how the Champion of Kirkwall had ended up one of the most hunted thieves in Thedas, with bounties on his head and guards after him in every city. He heard tales of their exploits, laughing along with them- he couldn’t help it. Hawke seemed happy, free, the danger of his new profession making him look more alive than his Champion duties ever had.

“We have a son, too,” Hawke said at some point. “A little urchin we found half-starved in a ditch somewhere. We took him in, and presto, we were parents. He’s staying with Solona.”

And that was the cue Cullen had been waiting for. “Where is Solona, anyway?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could, but Hawke wasn’t fooled.

“As if I’d tell you, Cullen,” he softly said. “You had your chance, six years ago. Leave her be. She’s suffered enough.”

Cullen’s fists clenched so tightly that they started trembling. “You say that as if it has been easy for me. I suffered too, Hawke.”

The man gave him a long, searching look. “Perhaps,” he said at the end. “Even so, I don’t see what good it would do to tell you where she is. She doesn’t have that much time left. It’s been more than fifteen years since the blight, Cullen,” he reminded the templar, whose eyes widened in sudden realisation. “You know that Wardens live for about thirty years, more or less, don’t you? She joined during a Blight, and apparently, she has even less time than that. Let her live her final years in peace.”

Fenris put one hand on Hawke’s forearm, and the two men’s eyes met. Fenris had managed to glimpse at the pain in Cullen’s eyes, apparently, the silent desperation, the fear. “Gareth,” he told his lover softly. “Look at him. He won’t hurt her again. Tell him.”

 Hawke looked at his lover for a few long minutes then leaned forward, and caught Cullen’s gaze. He read such a wealth of pain and sorrow in those warm hazel eyes, such regret, that his breath nearly caught. “Well, I’ll be damned...” he whistled softly. “You idiot. Why did you let her go if you loved her that much?”

Cullen drew in a deep breath, then closed his eyes. “Hawke...” he pleaded. “Just tell me.”

The former Champion sighed. “She’ll have my hide for this... Lotheryn. A small village on the south coast. Linteringhilinin.” He waved. “It’s a mouthful, I know. I took me ages to pronounce it correctly.”

 Cullen rose, and after digging in his pocket he attempted to throw a few coins on the table. Hawke grasped his hand. “The drinks are on me,” he said, and Cullen nodded his thanks, both for the drinks and the information. “Be advised, though, Cullen...She might not take you back. She was pretty angry with you, for the longest time.”

“It wasn’t anger,” Fenris corrected softly. “It was heartbreak.”

“Whatever,” Hawke nodded, then turned to Cullen again. “She still might not take you back. Especially since she knows she doesn’t have a long time to give you.”

Cullen clenched his jaw in determination. “She will. I’ll make sure of it.”

A wry smile carved itself on Hawke’s face, who would have given anything to be there to watch his fiery little cousin put the proud man in front of him through his paces. If he knew anything about his cousin, she was going to make Cullen’s every moment living hell before she put him out of his misery.

“Good luck with that,” he said.

“You  shall need it,” Fenris added.

With those ominous comments ringing in his ears, Cullen made his way back his inn, took care of his bill, then scribbled a brief and polite note of resignation and instructed the innkeeper to send it to the templar headquarters the next morning. He then packed and made his way to the docks, to wait for morning and the first available ship to Lotheryn.

Despite having just left everything behind him, the feeling singing in his heart was easy to identify:

HOPE

 

 

The end.

 


End file.
